


The Sort-Of-But-Not-Really Mid-Semester Party

by tj_teejay



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Drunkenness, Gen, Hangover, Party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 06:45:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5529866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tj_teejay/pseuds/tj_teejay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It shouldn’t be a surprise to Foggy that Matt can’t hold his liquor. It’s almost adorable when large amounts of alcohol loosen your friend up in a way he otherwise never would, but not so much anymore when the aftereffects start.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sort-Of-But-Not-Really Mid-Semester Party

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShotOfPatron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShotOfPatron/gifts).



> **Author's Note:** Written as a Christmas present prompt fill for [ShotOfPatron](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ShotOfPatron/pseuds/ShotOfPatron). Her prompt was: _First time Matt gets too drunk in college (Foggy POV)_. Huge thanks to Ash for the beta!  
>  **Timeframe:** Takes place during their time in college after they become roommates.
> 
> +-+-+-+-+

Foggy liked to let loose every once in a while. Free booze meant free buzz, and oftentimes venues with beautiful women. Even though he knew he’d regret it the next day, it was a vice he was willing to make that sacrifice for.

It had taken a great deal of convincing to drag Matt to the sort-of-but-not-really mid-semester party he’d been loosely invited to. But in the end, after a long barrage of pleas from Foggy (“Come _on_ , it’ll be super fun, I promise!”), Matt had caved, and they ended up halfway across campus in one of the other dorm buildings he’d never been to.

There was music and women, lots of awkward half-yelling in lieu of actual conversation, and Matt seemed like an overwhelmed lost puppy hanging on his elbow for the first fifteen minutes. But then Foggy had pushed a plastic cup of high-octane punch into his hand that Matt actually started drinking.

That’s how it began, really. Once the cup was half empty, Matt let go of Foggy’s elbow and started talking to the women who seemed to find him wherever he went. The handsome, wounded duck thing. Foggy had a lot of envy for it, even though he wouldn’t want to swap his eyesight for it, thank you very much.

At some point, there were female co-eds on either side of Matt, and Foggy was downgraded to decorative accessory. He didn’t mind. In fact, he was happy that Matt was holding his own. That had been the whole point—for him to go out there and meet new people. And, well, maybe get laid. _Hopefully_ get laid.

So Foggy put on his best charming smile, rapier wit, and went prowling. The punch was good, and he managed to make a few women smile at him. Flirting was hard work when you didn’t have the looks of a football jock, but Foggy kept at it. Someone would bite. There was something to be said for tenacity, and at least he had his hair going for him.

He worked on Layla for a while—an English major and just a little too intellectual for his taste. They must have talked for at least a good half hour, and Foggy thought he finally had her on the hook, when a guy who undoubtedly had an impressive set of biceps and well-toned abs beneath his tight-fitting t-shirt swooped in. _Poof_ —and gone was his chance for conquest.

By the time he was ready to give up, because there were just too damn many good-looking guys around, he figured at least an hour must have passed, maybe more. Where was Matt?

He scanned the room, then squeezed himself through the crowds to look for his roommate. It took a while, but finally he found him, on one of the sofas, with three women as good as sitting in his lap. A wide, goofy grin adorned his face and a finger of a svelte brunette was in his mouth that he was licking something off of. She retracted it again, giggling airily. Matt giggled along with her.

Foggy frowned. This was… weird. Matt never giggled. Matt never cozied up to women like this either. He was the poster child for all work and no fun. Mr. Studiousness. Matt did _not_ giggle.

Foggy edged closer, trying a noncommittal, “Hey, buddy.”

Matt’s face spread into an even more stupid grin. “Hey, Foggy.” It sounded just a little too enthusiastic, and he spoke a little too loudly. “Let me introduce these lovely ladies to you. This is Carina,” he gestured to his left, “this is Julie,” the one to his right, “and this,” the one practically sitting in his lap, “is, uh… what was your name again?”

She sniggered. “Monica.”

“Monica,” Matt repeated drunkenly. His voice was definitely slurring.

Foggy drew what he hoped wasn’t too disapproving a face. “So it looks like you’re having fun.”

“Yeah. We were juss… talkin’ ‘bout, uh, the fact that lemons taste different from limes.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah, that sounds like it's super fun.”

“There was demonstration involved.”

“Was there?”

“Yeah,” he nodded wildly. “You want to try?”

Foggy made a grimace and held up his hand. “Uh, no. Thanks. But…” he gestured to Matt, even though he knew his friend wouldn’t be able to see it, “I think you’ve exceeded your maximum high-proof liquor intake threshold, and you and I are very much ready to head back to our humble abode right across campus.”

“What? No. Why?”

“Because _you_ ,” he pointed at Matt again for good measure, “are very drunk, my friend, and I’m not particularly keen on mopping up your puke all night.”

Matt seemed to process that for a few seconds that were definitely a few too many, then he made a rotating motion with his hand that somehow didn’t seem to fit the situation at all. “Foggy, I have a better idea. You head home to our bumble— hum… humble abode, and I stay here to spend more time with Monica, Julie and Carola.”

“Carina,” she corrected him.

Matt ignored it this time. Foggy wished he could snap his fingers and they’d be gone already. He addressed Matt again. “There is no way in hell I’m gonna let you drunkenly stumble all the way back to our dorm by yourself.” He reached down to pat Matt’s knee. “Come on. Time to go. Say goodbye to these lovely ladies.”

Foggy looked from one to the other. “Perhaps you can give him your phone numbers. Or something.”

Suddenly they didn’t look all that interested anymore. That figured. They got up slowly and moved away, and there was a definite pout on Matt’s lips. He drawled at Foggy, “What’d you have to do _that_ for?”

“So I can drag your sorry ass home, dumbass. Get up. Come on, take my hand.”

Matt reached out with his, several inches off, and Foggy went to correct it. He pulled Matt up, but inertia and an obvious absence of muscle tone caused Matt to tumble right on into Foggy’s arms. Matt’s own arms flopped around Foggy’s torso where Matt pulled him close. Too close. A deep voice rumbled in Foggy’s ear. “You’re a really good friend, Fogsy.”

Foggy gently pried Matt’s octopus arms away from him. “Okay, first of all, I’m not called Fogsy, unless that was the alcohol-induced knot in your tongue. Second of all, you can bear-hug me all you want, but not now, and not in front of all these people. Do you think you can attempt the walk home? Where’s your cane?”

That question seemed to stump Matt. “What cane?”

“Your _blind_ cane. You know, the one you need to not run into things? Jesus Christ, I can’t believe you’re already this plastered.”

“You shoul’ not say that.”

“What—that you need your cane?”

Matt wagged a finger at him. “The name o’ the Lord.”

“Oh. Yeah. I don’t give a rat’s ass right now. Think, Murdock. Your cane. Where did you last have it?”

Matt scrunched up his face, thought for a long moment. The helpful answer that came afterwards was, “I dunno.”

Foggy sighed. Maybe it’d have to be collateral damage for now. Too many people, a too drunk Matt. He’d go back the next day, someone would hopefully find it and have the decency not to dispose of it.

It took a long time to maneuver Matt into the outdoors and down the two flights of stairs between their current location and the cool night air. Matt had somehow transformed into a clingy wet rag made of human flesh and bone. He was still giggling at regular intervals. Foggy was not particularly amused.

They had barely walked ten yards, or rather clumsily stumbled, when Matt jolted to a stop, stiffened, and eked out, “Gon’ be sick.” He doubled over and puked right onto the lawn that lined their path.

 _‘Ew, gross,’_ swilled through Foggy’s mind, but he still stood next to Matt, helplessly patting his back as he hurked up things Foggy didn’t want to imagine. Thank God it was dusky enough for him not to make out details.

It took a while, but Matt eventually straightened, and swayed and then dangerously tilted to one side. Foggy quickly caught him by the upper arm. “Whoa, buddy.”

“’M dizzy.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

“No, Foggy, like _really_ dizzy. I can’t see. I can’t see anything.”

“Well, you’re blind, so I’d say that shouldn’t be a particular concern.”

“No,” Matt whined, “you don’t understand. I can’t _see_ -see, but I can still _see_. And right now I can’t see.” He even took off his sunglasses, as if that would solve all his problems.

“Okay, you’re not making any sense. Can we— can we please just go home? You’ll be fine in day or two.”

Matt rolled his eyes up and almost into his head. It freaked Foggy the hell out. Then he said, “Okay.”

“Give me your glasses. Unless you want to put them on. Don’t want to lose them, too.”

Predictably, Matt stuck them back on his nose, but they were slightly askew. Foggy stopped himself from correcting it. Anyone with half their vision intact would be able to realize that Matt was sloshed to the gills, and lopsided glasses were the least of their problems right now.

It took half an eternity to get back to their dorm building. There was a lot of senseless babbling that Foggy only half listened to, peppering it with the occasional noncommittal grunt or affirmative statement. Matt didn’t really seem to mind either way.

In front of the entrance door, Matt jerked to a halt again. “Where are we going?”

“Uh... to our room...?”

“No,” Matt said emphatically. “Let’s go dancing!”

“Dancing? Are you— Matt, it’s really late. You’re drunk.”

“Foggy, dancing! I can hear the music. I wanna dance. It has a fiery rhythm. Salsa. Do you hear it? I wanna dance. Can we dance?”

Foggy listened for a moment. There was no music. “We’re not dancing, not right now. I’ll take you dancing when you’re sober again, okay?”

“Not okay,” Matt grumbled.

“Yeah, I don’t care. Come on, onwards, soldier. Just three more tiny flights of stairs. You can do that, right? Do it for me, okay?”

Matt seemed agreeable enough, and they eventually made it back to room 312. Foggy tried his best to get Matt out of at least the outermost layer of clothing. He kept taking Foggy’s hands and guiding them elsewhere. It was annoying as hell, and very much counterproductive. Matt also wouldn’t stay down on the mattress. He kept propping himself up like a badly calibrated weeble-wobble.

“Matt.” Foggy took off Matt’s glasses, put them on the nightstand, and tried to tap into his best bossy-assertive voice. He rarely had to use it with Matt. “I swear to God, if you don’t shut up and crawl under your covers in the next two minutes, I’m gonna... I don’t know, pour ice cubes on you and tie you to your bed.”

Matt grinned another stupid grin at Foggy. “We don’t have ice cubes.”

“Minor detail. I’ll still tie you down.”

“’M stronger than you.”

“I have the advantage of body mass. Plus, you’re drunk. Try me.”

Matt seemed unapologetic but at least ceased moving around, his head now resting comfortably on his pillow. Foggy considered it a small victory.

He briefly pondered whether coffee would be a good idea. Something to eat? Water? Probably not, it could induce another puking spell. What Matt really needed was sleep. And an extra-large supply of aspirin the next morning.

Foggy was still thinking about it when Matt stirred again, sitting up on the edge of his bed, groping for his sunglasses. Another sigh escaped Foggy’s lips. “Dude, what did I say about staying put?”

“I gotta pee.”

“Oh. Okay. Do you need help?”

“Holding my dick? No, I’d like to think not.”

“Geez. Getting to the bathroom, asshole.”

“Last time I checked, I had two working feet.”

“Yeah, last time _I_ checked, you couldn’t walk in a straight line if your life depended on it. Did your short term memory get wiped in the last five minutes, or something?”

Matt got up, but swayed backwards, and plopped back down on his ass. Thankfully, there was the mattress and the bed to break the fall. He grunted. “Okay, maybe I do need help.”

Foggy helped him up by the upper arm, muttering, “I’m not holding your dick, though.”

Matt didn’t grace it with a response and together they stumbled to the shared bathroom at the other end of the hallway. “Do us both a favor and sit down for it, okay?” Foggy added as Matt wobbled into the stall, either hand braced against the wall on opposite sides.

It took forever and a half, and Foggy almost considered banging against the door, but then Matt came back out. Foggy couldn’t help but remark, “I don’t have to tell you to wash, do I?”

Matt did it wordlessly, groping around for the faucet a few times. Foggy sighed again. This night needed to end, and he didn’t want to think about the next morning. He got two paper towels from the dispenser and gave them to Matt, because apparently he had forgotten that he was also supposed to dry his hands afterwards.

About halfway back to their room, Matt started sagging next to Foggy. He nudged Matt in the ribs. “Come on, Murdock. You’re not giving out on me this close to the finish line, are you?”

“I just wanna sleep,” Matt moaned.

“Yeah, dude, I echo that sentiment. Very much. But not out here in the hallway, okay?”

“Here seems fine.”

“No, it really doesn’t.”

Matt was trying to worm out of Foggy’s grasp to slide down the hallway wall. Foggy tightened his grip, yanking him up. “Oh, no, no, no. I mean, seriously?” He brought back the boss voice. “Matt. You’re not sleeping here. You have a bed that you want to sleep in. It’s way more comfortable. Trust me. You trust me, don’t you?”

“I trust you, Foggy. You’re a good friend. I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re a _great_ friend. The friend. The best. Friend.”

“Yeah, you already said that. And I do appreciate it. Tell me again when you’re back in your bed, okay?”

Matt nodded. “Okay.”

Foggy thought it wouldn’t be so hard after this. Just get Matt back into bed, and then he’d fall asleep. But somehow, he was wide awake again by the time they closed their door behind them.

Matt spun around. “The roof,” he said enthusiastically.

“What about the roof?”

“Let’s go to the roof.”

Not this again! Also, the roof? What the _fuck?_ “I’m not going to the roof with you. Do we even have a roof we can go to?”

“Yes! The roof. Up there.” Matt pointed upward for good measure.

“I know where the roof is, Matt. We’re not going there.”

“I wanna go to the roof. It’s nice up there. Quiet.”

“Yeah, I bet it is.”

“Why don’t you believe me, Foggy? I can show you the roof. It has a great view.”

“What view? Matt, you can’t see shit, let alone a view from a roof I don’t even know how you would be able to get to.”

“Foggy, I see everything. _Every_ thing. It's beautiful. Really beautiful.”

Foggy scrunched up his forehead in bewilderment. What was he even talking about? Then he had a thought. A scary thought. “Matt, are you tripping right now? Did you take something at the party? Did someone give you drugs?”

“No,” he said flatly.

It didn’t convince Foggy. Because, shit, this could really mess with him. If he was having hallucinations, Jesus Christ. Foggy had experience with being drunk, but not so much with bad trips.

He stepped closer to Matt and gently took his sunglasses from his face. “Matt, look at me.”

“I can’t see you.”

Foggy sighed. “Yeah, I know that. But you know where I am. Focus on me, keep your eyes still for a moment.”

“Why are you scared, Foggy?”

He ignored the question and peered into Matt’s eyes. His pupils didn’t seem abnormal. Not that he truly knew what normal no-light-perception pupils should look like, but at least they weren’t unusually constricted or dilated.

Matt blinked, then repeated his question. “You’re scared, why are you scared?”

“Matt, I’m just worried. Wait, how do you know that?”

“I can hear your heart pounding.”

Foggy was taken aback. Wow. Matt had to have some acute hearing. But he’d read that people losing one of their senses tended to compensate with some of the others, so, yeah. Still—wow.

The train of thought was broken by Matt abruptly turning on his heels to plop backwards onto his bed with uncanny precision. His voice was just a little too exuberant. “I’m _fine_ , Foggy. Fiiiine.” He stretched out the vowel.

“You are _not_ fine, but we’re not arguing that point right now.”

With Matt finally in a supine position and delightfully silent, Foggy had a chance to slip into his own pajamas and at least pretend he was halfway sober. But compared to Matt, he was soberest person on campus right now, and that had to be enough.

Silence fell after Foggy crawled under his own covers, and he had a blissful thought that Matt might have fallen asleep, but then there was Matt’s slightly slurring voice filling the space between them.

“Foggy, can you come here?”

“Why, Matt?”

“I don’t want you to leave.”

“I’m not leaving. I’m right here in the bed across the room.”

“Don’t go, Foggy.”

“Matt, seriously, I’m not going anywhere right now. I’m tired as fuck. Go to sleep, okay?”

There was at least a thirty second stretch of silence before Matt’s voice piped up again. “I need to go to the library.”

“Matt, it’s, like, two in the morning. You’re not going to the library right now.”

“I have to return this book I can't find. I looked for it this afternoon. I need to find it. Help me find it.”

There was another long-suffering sigh from Foggy. “Matt, I’m telling you, you are _not_ going to the goddamn library at this exact point in time. It’s closed. And the book can wait. We’ll look for it tomorrow. Together. I promise. I’d like to sleep now. Can we just go to sleep? _Please?_ ”

“Foggy, why are you always such a killjoy?”

“Okay, now I’m actually offended. You’re calling _me_ a killjoy, Mr. Catholic Goody-Two-Shoes?”

“I am,” he confirmed. “A huge killjoy.”

“Not ten minutes ago, you called me a good friend. A _great_ friend.”

“Oh yeah, I was supposed to tell you that again. You _are_ a great friend.”

“Who is also a killjoy.”

“Not mutually exclusive,” Matt chided him.

“Yeah, whatever. I’ll take the accusation if it makes you shut up and sleep.”

“I don’t want to. I can see everything. It’s wild. There are colors. I miss colors.”

“I bet you do. Can you appreciate them silently? Or, I don’t know, count them, or something?”

“Four. Five if I squint.”

“Count them quietly, maybe?”

“But they’re so pretty.”

Foggy was gonna scream if this went on any longer. Maybe he’d have to switch tactics. “Hey Matt, what do you say I tell you a little story. About Candace and me.”

“You like Candace.”

“I do. She’s a little weird, but in a good way.”

“I know. You’ve told me this. Your story blows.”

That elicited a small chuckle from Foggy. “It wasn’t the story yet.”

“Well, go on, then.”

Foggy breathed a silent sigh of relief. “Candace is kinda hilarious when she gets drunk. That one time, Thanksgiving, she and Uncle Harry killed half a bottle of calvados together. The rest of us were playing Scrabble. Kind of a Nelson after-dinner tradition. Are you still with me?”

He waited. Listened. There was only silence, and even breathing if he paid close attention. Hallelujah! Note to self: Nelson family stories will put a drunk Matt right to sleep. He might have to remember that for the next time.

Foggy himself fell asleep with a small smile on his lips not long thereafter, because that Candace moment really _had_ been pretty hilarious.

+-+-+-+-+

It was a groan that awoke Foggy the next morning. A groan from the other side of the room that sounded miserable times forty. Yep, epic hangover time for Matthew Murdock.

Foggy tried to take stock of his own physical status first. There was a hint of a headache hammering behind his sinuses. His mouth felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton all night that had only just been removed thirty seconds earlier. His body was sluggish, but this wasn’t so bad. He’d had worse. A _lot_ worse. Murdock-worse.

He pulled himself into an upright sitting position. Matt was still a lump of blankets over on his side of the room. “You awake, buddy?” he asked tentatively into the room.

“No,” came a grunt from the Murdock-shaped heap in his bed.

“How badly does your head hurt?”

“Worse.”

“Yeah, that’s kinda what happens when you drink past your limit. _Way_ past your limit.”

There was no reply, and Foggy guessed it was because speaking and coherence weren’t exactly at the top of the to-do list for his roommate. It’d be a slow day. Thank God it was Sunday.

He got out of bed and went about his morning routine, trying to be as quiet about it as he could. The shower felt heavenly. He emerged a new man with a purpose and less of a headache. Caffeine next. Lots of it. Especially for Matt.

The latter of which didn’t seem to have moved when Foggy got back to their room. “Are you up for coffee?” Foggy asked.

It was only a half-hearted grunt that came in reply.

“Murdock, you’re gonna have to speak to me if you want me to help you.”

“No,” he said.

“Caffeine will help. I know this from experience. It constricts the blood vessels, or some shit.”

“No thanks.”

Oh wow. Two words. That was progress. “What else can I get you? Greasy food is recommended for the morning after. A burger? Fries?”

There was another grunt, and then Matt shot upright. “Sick,” he gritted out.

Foggy looked around in a panic. Shit, he should have seen this coming. The best thing he could find was the plastic wastepaper basket by his desk. He thrust it into Matt’s hands, who promptly spat lots of nothing into it.

Foggy hovered awkwardly nearby, not sure what to do, so he just waited. It took an uncomfortably long time, but finally Matt stopped retching, which was followed by a very appropriate, “Ugh.”

Foggy wrung his hands. “Are you— well, obviously you’re not okay. Is there anything I can do?”

Matt was half-kneeling there on his mattress, his blankets still bundled around his calves, the wastepaper basket in his hands as if he was unsure whether he’d still need it. He closed his eyes, and there was pain and exhaustion spelled out clearly on his face. His attempt at humor seemed like a Herculean effort when he said, “Euthanize me?”

“Drama queen much? I mean, I know it sucks, but I gotta say, you kinda brought this one on yourself.”

Matt was letting the wastepaper basket sink to the floor, his fingers finding the bridge of his nose to pinch it. Foggy grabbed the half empty bottle of water on Matt’s desk and lightly touched it to the back of Matt’s hand. “Water,” he said by way of explanation.

Matt accepted it gratefully, swallowing all of two sips. Foggy watched closely as Matt seemed to want to decide whether it was staying down or not. The final conclusion seemed to be yes, and then Matt was flat on his back again, both index finger knuckles pressing into his eye sockets. Foggy felt for him.

The plastic basket next to the bed was pretty gross—assorted junk, paper scraps, old wrappers and, well, Matt’s bile. He rummaged around for a plastic bag he could dispose the mess into. Matt’s tired voice interrupted him. “You don’t have to do that, Foggy.”

“Do what?”

“Clean up after me.”

“How would you even know that that’s what I’m doing?”

“Come on, I’m blind, not stupid. Or deaf.”

“So you want me to just leave this gross, smelly mess next to your bed?”

“No,” he said miserably, “I’ll do it myself.”

“Like hell you will. You can barely move. Relax, Matt, I’ve got this. And even though I’m not directly responsible for the amount of alcohol you ingested last night, I _am_ responsible for dragging you to that party. So.”

Matt didn’t protest any further after that. He took the thing to the bathroom and rinsed it out for good measure. After that, he made sure it found its way back to the side of Matt’s bed. This time lined with a garbage bag he pinched from the kitchen, because Foggy was nothing if not practical.

“Thanks,” Matt muttered. It sounded grateful. Tiredly grateful.

He was now curled on his side, and Foggy realized Matt was pressing the blanket against his free ear. He sat down gingerly on the edge of Matt’s mattress. “That bad, huh?”

“You have no idea,” came the muffled reply.

“But this is just a hangover, right? Should I be worried? You’re, uh… I don’t know, you seem...”

Matt turned around so he was lying on his back again. He seemed to want to focus on Foggy, and let his eyes roll around until they halted somewhere near Foggy’s collarbone. “I’m okay, Foggy. I’m pretty sure it’s just a hangover.”

“Pretty sure?”

“Yeah, it’s not like I have a lot of reference points to compare this to.”

“You’ve never had a hangover?”

“I never drink this much.”

Foggy groaned. “Oh God, this is _my_ fault.”

“No,” Matt protested feebly. “It wasn’t you who downed half his body weight in punch last night.”

“Yeah, maybe so, but, uh… I’m just… I’m sorry, Matt. You’re miserable, and I should be, I don’t know, at least vicariously miserable _with_ you. You should take some aspirin. Do you think you can keep them down? I think I still have some of those effervescent ones.”

“No,” Matt objected once more.

“You’re refusing the sweet relief of painkillers?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because…” there was a pause, like Matt was trying to look for the words of explanation that were lost in the spaces between his brain hemispheres. “Because I just don’t like taking them, okay? They kinda mess with my system.”

“You’re allergic to aspirin?”

“No. Well, maybe. Kind of.”

Foggy furrowed his brow. “Kind of?”

Matt seemed to be getting irritated. “I just don’t want them, okay?”

Foggy was taken aback by Matt’s sudden harshness. Because, hey, he was only trying to help. “Okay,” he said, still clearly confused. “No aspirin then. Anything else you want or don’t want?”

Matt softened. “I’m sorry, Foggy. I just…”

Foggy had already forgiven him, because Matt still looked two hundred percent miserable. “It’s cool, I get it. You’re allowed to be cranky. I still just wanna help. Tell me what you need, even if it’s you wanting me to leave. I’ll do it, no questions asked.”

Matt sighed. “I don’t want you to leave. Just… if you could try to be quiet for a while so I can focus on your—”

“My what?”

“You. On you.”

What the hell was he even saying? Foggy frowned again. “You want me to be quiet so you can focus on me? I don’t wanna say it, but that sounds kinda creepy.”

Matt sighed again. “No, it’s… Foggy, it’s hard to explain. It’s like… it gives me something to focus on. Kinda like a distraction. You’re familiar. It’s comforting.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound any less creepy. Like you wanna listen to me breathing or something.”

“No, it’s not like that. It’s like… think of it as background noise. Like you putting on your favorite music in the background. That _Dido_ album you like.”

 _‘Busted!’_ Foggy thought. He smiled. And, yeah, that was beginning to make a little more sense. Still… uh, weird. However, Matt was weird sometimes. Maybe it came with the blind thing. What did _he_ know? He was prepared to take it at face value.

“Okay, I’ll be quiet. But please tell me if there’s anything else I can do, okay? Let me know if you get hungry or want coffee, or Coke, or tea, or whatever. Or listen to me narrating a movie. Listen to an audio book. Say the word.”

“Thanks, Foggy.”

It almost sounded like Matt would add what he’d already iterated several times the night before. ‘You’re a really good friend.’ It never came, but it wasn’t like Foggy needed to hear it out loud again.

They were such an odd pair, the two of them. When he thought about it, Foggy didn’t want to have any other roommate. Not even when the one he was stuck with was being borderline creepy.

So Foggy sucked it up, gently patted Matt’s leg under the blanket and did as Matt had asked—he quietly went about his business. Which gave him the chance to actually get some studying done. Maybe for once he could be a step ahead of Matt, because that never happened.

Matt just lay there, eyes closed, chest rising and falling evenly. Foggy studied him for a moment, wondering if he was really listening to his breathing.

He thought about it for a long time. It didn’t get any less creepy.

+-+-+-+-+


End file.
